Birthdays

I had so much fun part of today. The part where I was swimming with my friends and taking photos and playing games. The part that felt carefree and relaxed.

And still you turned away from me. I didn't wake up with you and you rolled away when I tried to snuggle. Instead, I was awake at 6am on my birthday, alone and drunk in the dark in the pool. I watched the sunrise and thought it would help me feel hopeful about the year to come. A new day, a fresh start, a new beginning. 

Instead, my new beginning felt lonely, disjointed, cold, shaky, and disappointing.

And now I'm ending the day the same way. We fought, I cried. I'm sitting here and you're sitting over there and you don't want to touch me or be near me and I get worse. Everything gets worse. 

The loneliness increases. The feeling that I'm going through this and there is no hope it's going to get better hits and I just sob and sob and sob. 

This is what my birthday is this year.

I hate it. 

I want to feel better. I want you to love me and hold me and never stop. 

I want a lot of things. I don't think I'm going to get them. 

Countdown/Morphine

I'm counting down again and this time it's my stomach that's in knots.

I don't want to do this but I know I have to.

I'm like a morphine addict. I know this is the fun phase, the sweet phase, the kind phase. I love kind T. I want to be with kind T. I want to stay with her and hold her and live with her and have babies with her.

But kind T doesn't stay.

I have to remember that.

I need index cards for tonight:
1.This is not my fault.
2. You cannot blame me for your actions.
3. I deserve better than this.
4. I did not look outside of our relationship to make myself feel better. Only you did.
5. How could you spend three nights with your ex-girlfriend and come home expecting to still be in a relationship? How do you justify that for yourself?
6. You will do this to me again.
7. You don't respect me or my feelings. You betrayed me on the ultimate level.
8. You had an emotional, if not physical, affair. You had an affair. You had an affair.
You had a three and a half month long affair.
9. You still think that what you did was acceptable.
10. You expertly planned and executed how to lie to me on multiple occasions to continue your affair.

Put down the morphine needle. This is one drug that is fatal. This is one time you have to walk away. Love doesn't always conquer all. Not when two people don't love the same way, the same amount.

I love you, but you love yourself.

Testing 1,2,3

You're testing me, obviously. You're testing me, right? You're trying to see how I'll react? And I'm failing, obviously.

Why else would you tell me you're not posting any pictures because you don't want to rub it in my face that you're having a good time, and then all the sudden it's a video of you and her, clinking bottles on the beach.

Of all the things NOT to rub my face in, why would you want to bring attention to the fact that you're with her? Why would you want to remind me that you're alone on an island with your ex girlfriend?

Do you want us to break up? I mean, I feel like the only sense I can make out of all of your repeatedly hurtful decisions is that you are too cowardly to break up with me. That you are trying to drive the knife deeper and deeper until I can't handle it and I have to stop it before you kill me with it.

Is that right?

Or are you so overjoyed by her that you have to tell the world, my feelings be damned? Do you forget about me and about consequences when you're with her? Do you forget about how I feel? Do you forget about hurting me? Do you forget about the promises you made me?

I don't know which is worse.

Hate You/Love You

These are things I can't manage to say to you in person, because if I do, I can't take them back. I'm not sure if I mean them, if I'm venting, if I just need to get it out so I can hear how it sounds and see if I recoil or if I grow. Some are things I wish I could say and others I wish you'd just fess up to. Some I wouldn't ever dare say. Some I'm afraid of.

Sometimes I hate you. Since June I have said that many times a week, usually crying in traffic. Sometimes it's a deep, anguished yell, sometimes it's a whisper or a punch to the steering wheel.

No one has EVER hurt me the way you have. Not even first:girl. I loved her deeply, but I hadn't planned my life with her. I hadn't put her ring on my finger and worn it for nearly two years. I hadn't started to plan our wedding together, hadn't set a date, started a pintrest board, started picking out the style of my wedding dress.

I hadn't had a real plan of growing old with her. I hadn't lived with her for two years and created a family with three baby cats with her. When she hurt me, she hurt a girl who still had a place to live, friends to lean on, family nearby.

I have none of that. My home was with you, my family was with you, my friends were your friends. And you cut me out of all of that.

And now you're gone and you say you don't want to be responsible for my emotions and I get that but also, fuck you. What are we doing here if I can't come to you when I'm upset, ESPECIALLY when you're the cause of it? Or when you can't tell me about your day because you don't think I'll be happy for you? Of course I'll be happy that you're having a good time! My goal is not to make you miserable and depressed and I think it's really awful that you think of me that way.

Our conversation last night left me angry and upset, unable to talk to you any further about it because you don't care to know about my emotions, because you're too drained from dealing with them. You should have thought of that before you started having a relationship with your ex, before you put me through shit of "I need you both in my life romantically," before putting yourself first over and over again every week since May. Obviously I'm going to be really emotional when you do that.

You say you've sacrificed, you say you've tried to make me trust you again. You've told me you love me. You've planned my birthday. You took a sick day to drive me to the ER after I almost died the night before, I actually really do appreciate it. But how does that rebuild trust? Then when it comes to the ex in question, you flip flop on your plans over and over again depending on her plans, proving that she is still so important to you, but you still decide to go see her a week AFTER I go to the ER and coming home two days BEFORE my birthday.

You refuse to stop talking to her. You refuse to cut her out even though I hate having her as a part of our lives. You asked me to include her in OUR lives ROMANTICALLY. I DON'T WANT HER AROUND. PERIOD. I don't think that's ever going to change.

So you're not willing to cut her out, and you're not interested in being there for me emotionally, and you're afraid of how much we're fighting and now you're "guarded" (give me a fucking break, if anyone should be guarded it should be me.)

And yes, I was mean, and I said things I shouldn't have said because I was hurt, and I tried to apologize but I shouldn't have said it in the first place. But I am also just learning that I don't know if I see a future with you. I can't be with someone who can promise to marry me and then throw our monogamy away. I can't be with someone who can hurt me so deeply and then only think about themselves and what they need. I can't be with someone who doesn't want to visit my family, who says their friends are a "package deal" and I can't talk about it with them. Who asks me not to leave but then pushes me away.

I wish we could have been better to each other, but we just weren't. I wish I hadn't been so awful this spring and maybe you wouldn't have reached out to her and started this whole mess. I wish I'd handled this better and you'd handled this better and maybe we could have gotten through it together.

I hope you can come back and we can spend my birthday together and make happy memories so that we don't end it like this. I hope we can share the boys and it won't be so painful to see each other. I hope we both get to live happily ever after. Maybe by some act of grace it will be together, but more likely it will be apart, and I'm learning to accept that. I look back at when we were first dating and it makes me smile so wide and I ache because I miss that. Oh, I miss you so. But that's not who we are anymore.

You wanted me to be more independent and autonomous, so here we go.

I will always love you,
XO

Special Days

Today was one of those special days.

The ones without any snot or tears, where your kid runs bang on into a wall and instead of melting down like she usually does, she shrugs and sits until she stops feeling queasy and then joins in again.

The ones where moms come up to me at the park and say things like:
"That's the first time I've heard a parent say 'Watch out for the person behind you,' all day. Thank you."
"Why you got like four kids on you? Either the redheads or the Mexicans aren't yours."
"Do you have Mary Poppins pockets in your dress? Where are all those water bottles coming from?"

It's the kind of day where I notice how far Mexican culture has come, because there were four little boys in colored skinny pants and converse and that never would have flown fifteen years ago. When I smile because Abuelo still uses a bandana instead of a bandaid, and little Crystal realizes I can understand her 3 year old Spanish as she begs me to push her on the swing.

It's the kind of day when "Mom," slips out more than my name and I remember that the kids fall into this charade as much as I do. When we laugh and make brownies and lick the bowl and learn to crack eggs on our foreheads. It's when a king size bed seems too big for four people because we're all piled on top of each other.

It's when she's in the bath and I come in to check on her. "Are Mom and Dad home?" she asks.

"Yes," I smile.

"Oh," her brows are furrowed and she's thinking. She doesn't seem excited or ask if she can rush to greet them. "Will you wash my hair?" she asks instead.

"Sure," I murmur and she leans forward for me and we don't discuss it further. She knows I'll stay until she's tucked in bed.

Perhaps we've all grown too dependent. Perhaps my life is too entwined with theirs. Perhaps when they hold me and refuse to let go, or read the bedtime books with my voice bound in each page when I can't be there, it is a sign we should all pull back.

But I've taught them how to ride a bike, how to make a sandwich, how to properly eat whipped cream from the can, how to do a handstand and make it across the monkeybars. The time for pulling back passed eons ago.

Family/Heavy Update

I got the phone call. The one I was half-expecting to come at three am from a sobbing girl. Instead it was an afternoon text message: Can you please call me when you have free time? So innocent, so politely distant. This is how my family works. We all do this. We all downplay our feelings and refuse to take up anyone's time or emotions or ask for what we need.

I called my niece right away and she was in tears on the other end of the line. "I told my mom and she just - she thinks that if I go out with my friends for a night it's going to go away and I'm going to get better!" I let her cry while I analyzed, processed, and also because she needed to get it out. She's so worried that by asking for help she's going to break up her family, cause her parents to divorce, be branded as a screw up for the rest of her life. "-and then she said 'What, do I need to worry about you committing suicide, too?' and she just spat it at me!" my niece sobbed.

This is where being an aunt puts me in a difficult position. I am, in age, between my brother and his daughter. I am at a point in my life where I can understand both points of view, and it doesn't seem very long ago that I was dealing with my own high school/college issues. His wife, K, and I are so close, probably the closest of all my siblings, (plus or minus Ladybug) and her relationship with my niece is so reminiscent of my own with my mother.

I know that K feels like a bad parent, that she is trying to help/love/comfort her daughter, but has no idea how to handle this situation. I also know that my niece is trying to protect her mother, trying to lock away all her emotions, because she feels like by being honest she is ripping her foundation apart.

So I'm flying out to see them and I honestly couldn't be happier about it. I want to take my niece in my arms and check that she's okay with my own eyes. I want a late night conversation with my sister so she can talk to me about everything she feels overwhelmed by and can't process.

I want to walk into the doctor's office with them and assure them that it doesn't make us lesser people. I want us to walk out of there as a unit and I want my niece to go to sleep at night knowing that her family is rock solid and 100% behind keeping her well and happy, above and beyond everything else.

This is the definition of being family. I am more than happy to live up to the parameters.

Heavy

When Christmas gets heavy:

I skyped with my brother's kids late Christmas night. They're cute kids, 15 and 8, but they're a little overemotional. My nephew is funny and biting but can be sensitive, and so can his sister. My niece is a junior in high school, after she skipped a grade in middle school, and she's been dealt some heavy cards lately: her best friend died from cancer last year, and her other best friend went to jail for molesting younger boys after he himself was abused. Her life has sucked the past few years.

She wanted to talk to me about it this summer, but couldn't find the words, and being raised in a family where we don't push to communicate, I held her as she cried and told her she could come to me when she was ready. Last night's call was tense, grumpy, and awkward, and finally she kicked her little brother out of the room and broke down.

She's been anorexic for the last year. She has emotions she can't understand - feeling happy and normal one day, grumpy and depressed and introverted for no reason the next. She feels anxious, paranoid, stressed, and she doesn't want to tell her parents because she doesn't want to be a fuck up.

I'm pretty good at being calm and reasonable and compassionate when people come to me, but after the fact, when I'm writing about this, I can't help but start to cry. Should I have told her about my anorexia years ago? My depression as an early teenager? The year when I'd been lost and confused and tricked into thinking I'd fatally hurt one of my best friends? Should I be talking about these things to my other nieces and nephews who might be feeling the same way?

Luckily, her mom, K, is the sibling I talk to most, and she knows, briefly, about my struggles with anorexia. After ascertaining and making sure that my niece is not suicidal, I convinced her to talk to her mom. She's struggling, she's drowning, and she needs help and understanding. Maybe it's a conversation I will be part of, maybe I will end up flying out there to help, or maybe she'll find the courage to say something and then call me later. And I understand her hesitation, because she can be emotional and now her parents tend to brush her emotions off. But now I'm worried about her. Because this is what leads to drugs and sex and suicide.

I know there's a stigma against getting help, especially in our family - I mean, hell, I never got help or talked to my mom about any of my issues for that very reason. But I'd rather get her help than see her all over the papers. I'd rather she learn that help is okay than to lose her forever. She's my baby girl who is sarcastic and funny, who lights up at Disneyland, and wants to be a singer and has so much talent, who plays the guitar with me and can sing Katy Perry better than Katy Perry can. I refuse to see her light go out because she won't tell her parents or a doctor that something is wrong.

Photos

Aneke, a blogger I respected and adored, though is no longer on this website, frequently posted "My Day in Pictures." I loved this idea, but never got around to doing it myself. Until today.

I have a camera on my phone and my phone goes everywhere with me. Why am I not taking pictures 24/7? Today was the most gorgeous day: lots of sunshine, not much wind, tons of animals, and the perfect sort of time to walk around and sit outside and mess around with Layla (guitar, not a lady, gutterminds).

 It was a very sunny day without a cloud in sight!

 

Rose in the afternoon sun 

Lavender stalks overflowing with bees.

Morning Glory flowers, interestingly enough, at sunset.

I thought the flowers were supposed to bloom and then fade by afternoon, but these stay open all day. They are definitely of a convolvulaceae family, so I'm not sure what their deal is.

And this is me as I was making dinner last night :)

I have about fifty pictures of the bees in the lavender from this afternoon. This woman walking by thought I was crazy because I was right next to them and taking pictures and didn't care that they were buzzing all around me.

When my grandfather died, it took me at least a year before I went out and visited the grave. By the time I had, it was all covered in grass and dandelions, and the little white weed-flowers always popping up on public lawns. Anyway, the bees were going nuts, and as I sat there by his headstone telling him everything he'd missed, they kept landing on me. I haven't been stung from that day forward, and since then I seem to associate them with his memory.

Day 4 Redux Siblings

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 4 — Your sibling (or closest relative)
I've got a lot of siblings, but I'm just going to write two letters because these are on my mind right now.

Dear Sister #1, (This is the sister side-story I mentioned in Vanity)

Every time you get pregnant, I start to wonder if you're a little insane, again. You're the most wonderful, happy, loving, gorgeous person I know, and so is your husband, but you have so many kids. I think having that many kids would drive me nuts. When do you sleep? When do you eat? How can you afford food for everyone?

And then I spend time with everyone and I can't imagine your family without a single one of your children. They're all so unique, each bring a different perspective to the table, and I love each and every one of them. I can only imagine what this one is going to be like. But, seriously, now. Nine kids? That's a lot. Just hold off a minute and seriously think things over before you go for ten, okay? I'm not getting any younger and would like to be the "cool auntie" for all your kids. If you keep going, your youngest ones are going to think I'm old and weird.

Lovingly,

Your Little Sister

Ladybug,

It's been five weeks since I've heard from you. Grams let me know you were okay three weeks ago, but it's not the same.  I worry about you all the time. Everywhere I look, there is someone who looks like you, or there's a Marines logo, or a "Support our Troops" bumper sticker. I want to rip them all down, because each time I see them I worry about you more.

When you were still in training, I could wear all my USMC gear with pride. It was as if by branding myself with it I could still feel you in the passenger seat, arguing about the awful music you like to listen to while we drive down the highway. But now you're not in training, and I see all these kids on the street- 17, 18, 19, 20, and my god, you're so young. Now I can hardly look at any of it without wishing I could work up the courage to write you a letter or pick up the phone and try to reach you.

I get that you've been trained well, I know that you know your way around a gun better than half the guys you're with, but you'll always be that little boy who tried to fight me and lost, every time. You'll always be the kid who ate chicken nuggets with ketchup, who couldn't handle a cold pool, who got locked in the walk in refrigerator every week and loved to dismantle lawn mowers in his spare time.

You're always going to be that kid, no matter what you do, or what rank you earn, or if you become a national hero. You're always going to be my little brother, for better or worse.

Love you- hope you're alright.

Your Big Sis

National Coming Out Day

While I don't know anyone who has come out on National Coming Out Day, I think it is an important time to reflect on what it was like to be an individual confused, disoriented, pained, or upset by the struggles with their sexual identity. While my own discovery and coming out was relatively pain free (until first:girl broke my heart), I have taken this day to listen to others and imagine what life is like for those past and present who have come out in awful situations. I think this is also a time to reflect on those we have lost because of their sexuality, whether death was self inflicted or not.

This morning, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to come out in a world where everyone hates you for being gay, where you feel isolated and abandoned by friends and family. I couldn't imagine what it would be liked to be pushed around, bullied, threatened, beaten up, mentally and physically abused.

I still can't imagine most of that. No one has ever beat me up because of my sexuality. But as of this afternoon, on this celebratory day for the LGBT community, I felt fear, despair, because someone didn't like that I was gay.

I was in the parking lot of the local supermarket when an old classmate recognized me. He was three years older than me, but he knew me well enough. He asked me if it was true, if I was a lesbian. "Yes, I am gay. Funny how things work out, isn't it?" was my witty Chatty Kathy reply. Instead of laughing, his whole face darkened, and he moved in so close I thought he might kiss me.

If you had seen the look in his eyes as he grabbed my arm, you would have felt that cold knot of fear slide into your throat too. He whispered that he couldn't do anything here and now, wouldn't get arrested over someone like me. "You better watch your step," he said. "I know you think you are winning now, but there are a lot of us who don't like what queers are doing to our country. Quit now, or you'll all end up in camps, and there won't be any homosexuals."

"Yeah, like the government will ever let that fly. Good luck with that." I should really shut my mouth in situations like this, but when I am backed into a for er, logic goes out the window. I am one of those people who spends too much money and then keeps spending because, fuck it, I've already used the credit card today.

Well obviously he didn't like that and I've got a nice abrasion on my arm to prove it. I can't remember his exact words, but the gist of it was that the government didn't need to know "officially" and there are many politians who would turn a blind eye if it was kept quiet enough.

He then told me that even though it's a small town, I shouldn't go out at night, because even though we all know each other, there are many who wouldn't try to save me if I were, say, raped in an alley.

He didn't hit me, didn't really hurt me, didn't even solidly threaten my life. But he shook me to my core. I think that is exactly what he wanted. He knows where I live, work, shop. Worst of all, he liked me in high school. We were friendly to each other, and he always called me funny and sweet. How can you like who I am, and then hate me for who I love? I think that scares me the most.

Update: December, one year ago, I wrote "Can fear actually make you a more confident person? Can you be so afraid that you put on a brave face, and through that facade become a more courageous person?"

Maybe this encounter has nothing to do with what I'm going through now, but maybe it does. Today, I am writing about first:girl, something I have never talked or written about with anyone. The secret is coming out, and my heartache is finally lessening with every paragraph.

Backlash/Constance

Constance is now a household name for those active in LGBTQ cultures. We look to her as part of a larger movement, we look to her as a bearer of LGBTQ rights in the next generation, we look to her as a girl who has been wronged for just being herself. We are all trying to do the right thing for her, as she has done the right thing for herself and the LGBTQ rights movement.

She has been wronged. She was wronged by small minded people who belittled her views, her beliefs, her sense of being. She was wronged by a bunch of whinging teenagers who are ego-centric and wanted their special night. Those whinging teenagers did what they felt was justified. The kids didn't say that Constance couldn't bring a date of the same sex, those were the school officials. Those same officials canceled the prom for everyone, devastating the teenagers who were raised to believe Prom is the best night of one's high school days. So the kids threw their own prom, and felt justified in doing so. I can understand that, from a psychological perspective.

I honestly think that except for a select few, the kids didn't invite Constance because she was the reason their prom was canceled, not because she was gay. Call me idealistic or naive, but these kids have gone to school with Constance for years, and I'm sure most know her well enough to look past her sexuality and regard her as a person. And Constance is, above all, one of the most loving, tolerant teenagers that I have ever heard of.

This is why, when I heard about the "Constance quit yer cryin'" Facebook page, I was shocked and appalled. I decided to head over there and check it out. Instead of posts from the kids of the school, I found a huge backlash from the LGBTQ community. There were countless posts saying "You homophobic, bible thumpin', rednecks, with IQs of 98, don't have the right to judge anyone!" among the few and far between posts of "Don't stoop to their level and call them names because that won't do anyone any good."

This was horrifying for me. The amount of hate spewed onto the wall of that Facebook page overwhelmed me. I could see the blood oozing from the old battle wounds of LGBTQ people, which had been ripped open and gouged anew by the hateful act done to Constance. It became clear that this hate crime (because really, that's what it is) was a personal assault against everyone in the queer community.

However, I was upset with the way people jumped in the fray to backlash against these teenagers. Hate begets hate; tolerance begets tolerance. By flaming those teenagers, we are reaffirming the belief that LGBTQ people are hateful, sinful, mean, and angry. We are doing nothing to change the views of the people who do not accept us. Constance's own quote about this was taken up as a battle cry. She wrote:

"ok i think that if people that are supporting what i am doing really support me they need to stop sending messages to people at my school because some of them are mature and stay out of it some of them support me and then there are the other people who are against me but since you dont know who is who please stop doing that because its not their fault. thanks."

"thanks everyone and you know i dont agree with what the school did obviously but i never wanted my classmates to have to suffer from it and many of them dont get that and want to blame me for everything and think i am doing this all for a faulty reason but i just want the negativity to stop because i try to be respectful and positive i find it to be more effective. please tell all your friends so as to get the word out."

This was immediately followed by posts saying that Constance was afraid that the students would take it out on her, and that caused for, wouldn't you know it, more hate towards the students. Well, Constance is a teenager in high school, dealing with peer pressure and being accepted. If you look at everything she says, every action she takes, you will realize that she is the type of person who wants everyone to like her. On top of that, she wants everyone to accept diverse sexualities. A good view of LGBTQ sexualities starts with the queer community taking the high road, not cussing out some 14 year old who didn't have anything to do with the original decision not to let Constance take her date to prom.

"Kill them with Kindness" was the phrase I grew up with. If someone didn't like me, I made them like me. I baked them cookies, I shared my lunch, I drew them pictures in my sloppy 5 year old way. In high school I was nice to everyone, helped everyone. As a community, if we want to change minds, we need to (figuratively) help little old ladies cross the road.

We have had names thrown at us like daggers, names which summed up who we were into a disparaging phrase or hateful word. Aren't we proving just how small minded we are to blame their bigotry on Christianity (which has a huge queer tolerant following) or "redneck towns" (my brother is a 'hick' and he has no problem with LGBTQ people) or any other generalization?

The fabulous Jesse James wrote something that struck me to the bone:
"Every day I get up and for some reason or another, in some moment or a few, I have to fight a little, stand up a bit at least, JUST TO BE ME.I’ll call Violet sweetie in the grocery store and when that guy stares at me, well, I’ve spent years now practicing how to be brave enough to stare back and not to let myself look away until after he does...We wake up, we brush our teeth and then we put on some combination and specific variety of armor that let’s us walk out the front door without dying, so that we can take the blows if and when they come. "
I fight every day by letting all those disparaging comments slide off of me, and I pull myself together, put on a bright smile, and charm that person like crazy. I am the girl who brings tulips to the lady on the corner that thinks I'm going to hell, I am the girl who brings a crying child back to its mother in the store. Every day I fight in my own way, and it is just as draining as fighting a full blown war. However, everyone I know says, "Oh, isn't she a darling girl? She's so thoughtful and compassionate." Occasionally there is a "It's such a shame that she's...that way," tacked on at the end. But everyone likes me, and I believe that's the first step.

Maybe the way people jump to violence, name calling, and cussing upsets me so much because I feel like it undoes the daily progress I make. I am trying to change minds, one at a time, until I can change my neighborhood, my town, my state, my world; every time there is a blurb on the news about a violent LGBTQ response to something, I have to start all over again.

If you want to make a real difference (I took this information from the wonderful Dorothy) write a letter or sign the petition:

CONTACT:

Itawamba County Schools Superintendent Teresa McNeece:

tmcneece@itawamba.k12.ms.us
662-862-2159 ext. 14

Itawamba Agricultural High School principal Trae Wiygul

twiygul@itawamba.k12.ms.us
662-862-3104

One more way to speak out. Sign the HRC petition to say "I stand with Constance McMillen.”

Houses/Unpacking

When I went off to college, I didn't go through the normal routine. I went to a conservatory, where one is expected to put in 16 hour days (sometimes more), six days a week. I was one of the youngest in the class, with most ranging between 25 and 30. I lived in a house with roommates instead of a dorm, was required to cook and clean and split bills. It was all very...adult (or as close to being an adult as I have ever experienced). Whereas I tend to think of university as an extension of high school with dorms, cliques, and not a whole lot of responsibility.

So, after living more or less as an adult for three years, I had to return home. My father has a fatal disease, and my mother is not coping well. We weren't doing well financially. So, after three years, here I am, in my old bedroom of my childhood home. I moved back home in June of 2009.

I started unpacking today.

I never unpacked because I thought maybe there was a way to leave quickly. I worked long hours for three months, so long that I was never home, and then left on a road trip for another two. Five months of trying not to live here.

Today I threw out three bags of stuff that had been lying around. Things from when I was a kid, things from the road trip, just things in general. I started with one section. One section that, after today, feels a little more like myself. Feels a little more like if I were to bring a girlfriend home to see it, she would get a glimpse of me- of what is important to me. I finished my bookshelf today, and that is a huge start.

I think part of the reason that I haven't felt like an adult, haven't felt capable of dating, is that being in this room again makes me feel like a child. The angel figurines, the stuffed animals, the collector barbies-they all shrink me down until I'm no more than a small girl.

It's time to give those away, to pass them on. Not to get rid of them, but to take back this space as my own; to make this room grow up with me, so that I no longer shrink under its gaze. A place to play guitar, read a novel, finish my psychology homework, a place where I can lock the door and feel sexy (because I'll be damned if a woman doesn't need to feel sexy in her own bed once in a while).

Today I took a step toward that, and feel a little more comfortable inside my own house.